Imperfect
by randomcat23
Summary: Before I can stop myself, I call out to you and you lift your head, smiling your imperfect smile. I return one of my own and its then that I know for sure...I know things can never be the same between us ever again. Post 2nd season TaiSora Friendship


Where in the world did this come from? I wasn't even planning on this fic and BAM it came. It's kinda like a spur of the moment type of fic. Any feedback would be lovely.

A quick note: In this fic I have Tai driving. I've gotten so confused about their ages, especially during second season. One website said 14 another 12 and yet another 17. So, I took matters into my own hands and estimated that in second season Tai and all of them were around 15.

**Disclaimer:** Nope, I don't own Digimon. You actually thought I did?

Ah yes, this fic is in Sora's POV.

* * *

It's nights like these when I wish I had a car. Nights like these make me wish I took the bus or called a friend. But, here I am again, walking down this road, as I do everyday.

Despite my feelings, it is a beautiful night. The sky is scattered with dark wispy clouds, a light breeze blows through the air. The sun has finally begun to set as I tuck a piece of hair behind my ears. I shift the backpack I'm carrying and continue on my way.

'_Matt's in one of his musical phases again_,' I muse to myself. I had just come from his house and every word that came out of his mouth contained that tune that he speaks with when he's writing. So odd. Yet, so perfect. I guess that's part of the reason why I love him.

An unexpected smile creeps on my face. We've been going out for over a year and a half now. His music career has had its ups and downs. I remember sometimes thinking he was crazy for being obsessed. But, I think I've come to understand it. I just couldn't relate to it because I've never shared that same passion. My own obsessions were often sports, soccer and then tennis.

In the end it all works out though. He has his thing, I have mine and we go with it.

At this point, my flow of thoughts hinders and I come upon the reason why I dislike this road so much. It's not a hard walk, nor is it a far trip. The problem is not the weather. My reason, though childish, is the simple fact that I must walk past the old soccer fields.

I always find myself glancing down at the green grass areas. Sometimes a feeling of yearning flows within me. Sometimes it's just a feeling of rememberable moments. Most of the time however, it's a feeling of uncertainty. That's because when I look down there, I see you.

I watch you as you shout out commands to your teammates. The ball skips along the ground, gets kicked by the mid-fielder and lands itself on the sideline. Course, I catch your movement before anyone else. Your wild-haired head pops out of nowhere and you send the ball straight in front of the goal where your teammate is waiting. He gives it a one-touch kick and it sails smoothly into the corner. Goal.

You exchange high-fives with the goal-scorer and call it a night. The team huddles up and then disperses. Yet you remain–as you always do–staying so much later than is required, even if you are the captain.

Now I take a seat on a bench, well out of your ear shot and visual range. This is the part I dread and enjoy at the same time.

You wipe the sweat off your forehead and wave to the last teammate. When he's gone, you quickly pick up the orange practice cones on the field and stuff them in your bag, gather up the extra soccer balls, and plop yourself down on the cool grass.

I play with the grass between my fingers. I almost sicken myself. I've watched you so many times. Tai, I've memorized your pattern. First you pluck off your socks and your shin-guards, taking time to relax and re-stretch. Then you pick yourself up and begin your own practicing.

First time I watched you, I was shocked by your intensity. It was over a month ago, when I was coming home for the day and your practice caught my eye and I gasped in awe. I've been watching you ever since, every time I pass by, I'll stop and gaze.

The way you control the ball, with such ease and mastery, you have skill beyond many professionals. The ball bounces off your knees, head, feet, and never does it escape your reach. Your left foot curves around and pounds the round object into the net. I grin; you've been working on your left foot.

Ever since we were kids, 'soccer' and 'Tai' were always in the same sentence. You were determined to be the best. I think you're pretty much there.

You take another shot, this one with your right, and its power totally outclasses the shot with your left. Still right footed, I see. I check my watch, and look up at the sky. It's getting dark now, and I should be heading home. But tonight, I can't. Something is weighing me down. So, I decide to stick around.

Lately, as I've been watching you, I've been thinking about why I just don't join you. Sure, I haven't touched a soccer ball in a long time, but you wouldn't care. It could go back to the way it used to be, you, me, and that soccer ball. Skill was an unrelated element.

Yet, I keep myself planted on the damp ground, feeling nervous and unsure. Ever since that one fateful Christmas, I can't look you in the eye. I feel guilty, even though I shouldn't. I think I should do something, even though you deny anything. Same old Tai.

Why can't it go back to the way it was? The way it should be? You, me, and the soccer ball.

Our relationship has been diminishing over the year. Have you noticed? You hug me, but it's empty of all feelings. You look at me, but it no longer has the same gleam in it. You laugh, but it sounds hollow.

Now, I look away from your form. I look at anything but you. The trees hold my interest for a moment or two. I want it to be. . . I want our relationship to go back to the way it was; where it didn't matter if I was going out with Matt, or if you had feelings for me.

And what is stopping me from telling you this? The simple fact is that you would brush it off. You would laugh lightly, pick up the soccer ball, and go on practicing. After a few minutes you would ask me why I said such things. "Nothing's changed," you would say. That's that.

I know you're hurting. Well, maybe not hurting. . . you're disappointed. Probably questioning yourself.

Wait, what am I doing?

How can I label your feelings? I don't even know how you really feel. You hide behind that strong, courageous mask, a habit you picked up long ago to make people feel better.

Am I the only one who noticed this change in you? Does Matt notice the way you avoid us every now and then? Did Kari ever approach you on your new attitude? Or am I the one who changed? Have I changed so much that you seem foreign? You, Tai, foreign to me?

I shudder at the thought. You were always there. Always. When I needed a shoulder to lean on, you were that support. When I needed to vent anger, you were the one I yelled at. All the times I needed a laugh, you made me smile.

Have I lost all of that? I would redo it all.

But weren't you the one who said something like this: "You can't help your feelings."

I always thought you were giving your blessing to Matt and me. Were you relating that to yourself as well?

How do I fix this?

I don't know.

I can try though.

I gain enough courage to walk down the hill and pause under a tree. You still haven't noticed me; you mind is completely focused on that ball.

Wait. I can't do this.

Why? Why can't I? I know something's wrong. You know it too. And whatever the reason may be we have to try to fix this.

Before I can stop myself, I call out to you and you lift your head, smiling your imperfect smile. I return one of my own and its then that I know for sure. . . I know things can never be the same between us ever again.

"Hey, Sora," you say, bouncing the ball once more on your head and then catching it. You shuffle your feet and sit down. Great, I threw off your groove.

"Hey, Tai,"

With one hand you place the ball in the bag. "It's been awhile."

"You didn't come to our last digi-reunion," I can't bring myself to sit next to you, so I tower over your form.

Here, you scratch your head and look away. "I had obligations . . .soccer, you know."

"Yeah, I know," Silence. Why? Why can't we carry on a conversation again?

I watch you busy yourself with cleaning your cleats.

It hurts.

It takes everything I have to restrict myself from jumping down and hugging you. It really can't go back to the way it was . . . when everything was perfect, when nothing mattered except soccer, digimon, and other random kid things.

I miss you, Tai.

Our relationship is so broken, yet repaired at the same time. It's like a piece of glass that someone smashed and tried to put back together. The original shape is in tact, but the cracks remain. Never completely fixable.

"You just passing by?" Finally you speak.

I lie, "Yeah . . . yeah just passing by."

Quiet. The sky darkens and I finally realize I'm supposed to be at home. I glance toward the road. Your chocolate eyes follow mine and you ask, "Need a ride home?"

Tai.

"If you don't mind."

"Never a problem," You sling the large soccer bag over your shoulder and pick up the ball bag.

I nod my thanks.

"Something wrong, Sora?"

I blink at your question. How do you know? This is it. I could fix, or at least try to fix our damaged relationship. I don't care why it's injured, who caused it, if we're being childish or whatever. I want it repaired. I feel my mouth open and close at a lost for words. Of course, this is the one time where I'm lost for words, and no one is here to help me.

I can't do it.

You're staring at me now, raising your eyebrow.

Sighing in defeat, I shake my head. "No, what makes you say that?" Sometime I'll get it right. Sometime soon, very soon because I don't know how much longer I can take this.

The car beeps as the doors unlock. You pop the trunk and throw your gear inside. Your hand rests on the hood as you run the other hand through your hair. I study your curious pose for a moment before you say: "I've been meaning to talk to you about something."

"Eh?"

"I think you've noticed, but you and I, we're not. . ." Pause. Glance. Shuffle.

My eyes widen with understanding and I smile. You were always stronger than me in that regard. Maybe you weren't good with words, but the meaning was clear. I guess you still are my shoulder to lean on.

Finally, I remove my feet from the ground and grab your arm. You seem to understand too, because then you open up the door and slide in, waiting for me to get in on the other side. Maybe this can work after all. Maybe we're on our way to returning to what we had. It will never be what it was; the wound was deep. But scars eventually do heal.

* * *

A/N: Well, I tried something that's hopefully a little different. I'll leave the rest to your imaginations. Questions? Comments? Constructive criticism? Click that button and type them out. I'll reply to anything I get. Thanks for reading! -randomcat23 


End file.
